Page 7 of Trade It All

“You’re in early,” I add.

“So are you.” There’s something in the way she says it—soft, almost automatic—but there’s an edge underneath it. Not sharp. Not defensive.

Just… tired. It disappears as quickly as it came.

“I’ve got a lot to get done before practice,” she continues, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “Content scheduling, social calendar, a couple interviews.”

Busy. Always busy. Always moving. Always fine. I watch her for a second longer than I should. Taking it in. The shadows under her eyes. The way she holds herself like she’s bracing for something.

“You get any sleep?” I ask. The question comes out before I can stop it. Her fingers tighten again, just slightly. There it is. The truth. But she doesn’t give it to me.

“Yeah,” she says easily.Lie.“I’m good.”Another one.My jaw tightens. Of course she is lying to me. She’s always good. Always fine. Even when she’s not.

I nod once, because pushing would cross a line I’ve already come too close to more than once. “Alright,” I say. And I hate the word the second it leaves my mouth. Because it feels like I’m letting it go. Like I’m choosing not to see something I know is there.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Her smile softens—just a little, just enough to make it look real for a second. “Will do.”

I step back into my office and close the door behind me. The quiet settles in again, but it’s different now.

Heavier. Like the space knows something I don’t yet. I sit at my desk, staring at the paused screen in front of me without really seeing it. My hand lifts without thought. It always does.

My thumb presses against the underside of my watch, the familiar pressure grounding in a way I don’t question anymore. I shift it slightly, just enough. Just enough to feel it.

The thin band tucked beneath the metal. Soft. Worn.Hers.My jaw tightens as I let the watch fall back into place, covering it again.

Hidden. Where it stays. Where it should stay. I don’t let myself think about why it matters. I don’t let myself think about that night. Or the way she felt in my arms.

Or the fact that even now—Almost a year later—It’s still the one thing that settles something in me I don’t want to look too closely at.

So I don’t. I drop my hand and force my attention back to the screen. But it doesn’t stick. Because something’s wrong. I felt it the second she walked in. Saw it in the way she moved. The way she tried to hide it. And I don’t know what it is yet. But I will.

Because when it comes to her—I notice everything. Even the things she tries the hardest to bury.

Chapter 3

Maddie

Thequietintheapartment presses in the longer I sit in it. At first, it almost feels like a break—like something I should appreciate. No noise, no movement, no one asking anything from me. But the longer I stay still, the more it starts to feel like there’s nothing there to push back against. Just space. Too much of it.

My laptop rests open across my thighs, the glow of the screen soft against the dim morning light slipping through the blinds. Tabs are pulled up—engagement trends, content ideas, notes I started organizing last night—but I haven’t moved anything forward.

The cursor blinks at me. Waiting. I read the same line again. And again. The words stop making sense somewhere around the third time. I reach for my coffee out of habit, take a sip, and immediately make a face. It's Cold. Of course it's cold. It's beensitting there for an hour. I set it back down without finishing it, dragging my fingers over my forehead and pushing my hair back.

Focus. You need something for tonight.

Something new. Something… My phone buzzes against the couch cushion beside me.

Tyler.

“Hey, you.” I smile into the phone.

“Yeah.” No hello.

“What’s up?” I shift slightly, tucking my foot beneath my leg, grounding myself against the couch.

“I need three tickets for tonight.” Straight to it.